


(The Downfall of) Marsh Bro

by the_fic_of_truth (sweet_witch_hella_knight)



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Humor, Future Fic, Gen, Genderfluid Kenny McCormick, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internet Famous, Parent Death, Trans Kenny McCormick, Wakes & Funerals, butters goes by leo now, randy gets drunk and racist and then dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-12-26 16:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_witch_hella_knight/pseuds/the_fic_of_truth
Summary: Stan Marsh is a jaded young musician struggling with the death of his terrible father. Kyle Broflovski is a jaded young blogger who escaped to New York to get out of his younger brother's shadow. To cope with their complex emotions, the old friends settle on the most logical solution: create a raunchy, low-budget short musical film and post it online.Their film soon goes viral, encouraging Stan and Kyle to make a career with their comedy and finally get the respect they think they deserve. But are they cut out for the life of Internet celebrities? Will their brutal comedy get them into big trouble? Can their friendship withstand the temptations of fame and fortune?(Or: Stan and Kyle take on the same profession as Trey and Matt, with similar pitfalls plus a lot of character-driven angst. Conceived after Season 22 and will not be majorly modified for events from Season 23 onward.)





	1. The Peter Pan of South Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gives the hardest speech of his life, and not everyone agrees with what he has to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME: sixteen years after the events of the show.  
> CONTENT WARNINGS: parent death, references to drunk driving and a fatal car crash, brief discussions of anti-Native racism, discussions of parental neglect. heavy stuff.  
> OTHER NOTES: this is very heavily inspired by the bojack horseman episode "free churro." i wanted to write a fic about an adult stan dealing with losing his dad, and i combined it with another idea to make this multi-chapter exploration of stan and kyle as adults. it's fairly difficult to characterize everyone with a time jump, and to hit a good balance of tone, so i hope i do well.

Stan Marsh stood at the podium in front of his extended family and lifelong friends and acquaintances, trying to conjure up some positive feelings about his dad. It cost more creative energy than any song he had ever written, and if he didn't have his eulogy written in front of him, it would have been a lot harder.

"My father was pretty well known around here," he started, nice and neutral. "He spent most of his life working in geology as his day job- which he was surprisingly good at- while circling through a dozen other hobbies, trying to find something to bring joy to his small-town, picket fence life. As a result, a lot of people know him as a tween wave musician, former Nobel Prize winner, the _mastermind_ behind the game Sarcastaball, a hapless Blockbuster owner, a marijuana entrepreneur, and a record-breaking...defecator?" Stan looked around, feeling a little awkward to say that in a church, but he respected his dad at least enough to not call him a "record-breaking shitter" like in his first draft. "And probably a lot more than that."  
  
"And as of last week, you know him as the man who died dressed as Pocahontas, drunkenly speeding down the street, on his way to the store, to win a bet about whether Twix was still split into Left and Right bars or not."

 

* * *

 

The last time Stan had spoken to his father had been the day before Halloween, before his dad's party. Randy had called him up, which he had done maybe once every two weeks, though he sent a lot more posts and messages over social media. And he'd drive the two hours sometimes if he _really_ wanted to brag _,_ but usually he was too occupied with whatever he was scheming up back home to go to Boulder (thank god). He just wanted to brag to Stan about his costume and the sweet party he'd be attending.

"I thought you were PC, doesn't this kind of go against that in a lot of ways?" Stan had replied.  
  
"No, see Stan, I spent hours looking up stuff about Matoaka's personal life, and I feel this is my way of honoring her tragic story."  
  
Stan had looked at the picture Randy had texted during the call, depicting a skimpy buckskin dress akin to the infamous Disney flick. "But this looks like literally every other Pocahontas costume."  
  
"...Well I'm not _perfect_ Stan, okay? I didn't have time to make it super authentic, so I'll compensate by sharing as much real-life Matoaka trivia I know. Besides, I'm part Neanderthal, and my species was totally wiped out, so I can understand the trials these people underwent."  
  
Stan didn't want to argue with his father, because talking to him for long had always just drained his energy. "Okay, alright, Dad. Look, I have to get ready for something tonight, and I might head out to the Broadway Halloween Parade tomorrow, or-"  
  
"Oh, you're actually getting out tonight. Good. Get out of that dingy little apartment."  
  
Stan picked up a spare chip bag sitting at his desk and tossed it into the garbage. "I've been out a lot more lately. Like, the guys at work and I go out for dinner sometimes."

"That's cool, that's cool. You been to the breweries over there?"

"Like, once or twice," Stan replied. "But I only really drink socially, so..."

Stan heard his dad tsk-tsk. "You gotta take more risks, Stan. Maybe you should have gone further away to school. Hit up a big city like New York."

"That's not what you said before," Stan said. "You wanted me to stick around in Colorado so I could hang out with you when you wanted me to." Stan also didn't want to go too far from his mom, since she'd been on unsteady ground since the final divorce. Plus, he didn't see much of a point to leaving as long as he just wasn't living in South Park anymore. The decision had bit him in the ass when Kyle had transferred, and he'd hoped Kyle would change his mind once Stan decided he wasn't leaving, but Kyle stuck to his guns. He had a plan, and Stan was just drifting along.

"You barely came around anyway," Randy chided. "You're in your prime, you can't waste it holed up in your room writing emo songs about heartbreak or whatever."

Big smack talk coming from Lorde herself. "Alright, I'm going, Dad."  
  
"Live it up tomorrow, son!"  
  
Stan hung up.

The next he heard of his dad was his sister on the phone, yelling for him to drive back to his hometown as soon as possible, her voice somehow louder than the music blaring from the parade. Stan had the decency to change out of his Halloween costume before getting on the plane. The mortician didn't change Randy out of _his_ costume, because his family found it dishonest to try and erase his nature.

Not that it mattered, because it was a closed-casket service, of course. He'd practically bashed his head open in the crash, and not even his long flowing wig could cover up the damage.

* * *

" _'Live it up tomorrow.'_ He said that to me before he got drunk and crashed into a convenience store wall." Stan took a deep breath. "My dad didn't think about tomorrow, most of the time. He wanted whatever was popular _now_ , whatever was cool _now._ Because he just really wanted to be in his twenties again, and he didn't want to think about having to grow up and accept new responsibilities, like his job or his family."

Stan glanced at the collage made to celebrate his father. Randy and Stan were in a few pictures together. After Stan turned ten, there seemed to be no pictures of him smiling next to his father. Not that his father noticed, unless he was berating Stan for daring to be depressed during his youth.  
  
"So throughout our lives, we struggled to keep up with his destructive urges, some of which compromised the entire town. I felt like half of my childhood was spent taking care of that man. But my dad didn't think about tomorrow unless he thought about living it up. And maybe that's not as bad as a lot of other parents I know, sure. But he openly didn't care about us, or himself, and it showed. My dad wanted to not grow up, and it ended with him at this point, dead at sixty-one, never growing any older." Stan raised an imaginary glass. "So goodnight to the Peter Pan of South Park." He pointed his thumb to himself. "You're the reason this Lost Boy is lost. You went off course and flew right through the fucking windshield."  
  
Stan stepped down as the mourners murmured. At this point he had given up on decency. They should know who Randy was and what he deserved.  
  
He sat next to Shelly, who didn't say a word, but grabbed his hand with the strength of a mixed martial arts fighter. Stan worried she was pissed at him, but when he turned to look at her face, she was smirking with agreement. Stan didn't look at his mother for the rest of the ceremony.

 

* * *

 

After the proceedings, Stan didn't want to talk to anybody, lest any townsfolk come down too hard on him for his brutally honest eulogy. He looked at his father's tomb one last time, mostly out of obligation, and then left his family to socialize while he waited outside, smoking. Some people tried to talk to him, claiming it was a great loss and all the other polite default funeral statements, but all Stan did was nod along.

He didn't even want to talk to his closest friends then, but they knew for the most part to back off when he needed space. Leo insisted that he could always come to him for support, and Kenny said the eulogy was totally the most colorful thing of the evening, but Stan only gave them a half-smile and some quiet thanks.  
  
Kyle didn't talk at length, just dropped a reminder: "Mom invited your family over tonight. She wants to treat you guys." He watched Stan blow a puff of smoke away from Kyle. "If you want to come early by yourself, or stick around later, that'd be cool too."  
  
Stan turned his head towards his former best friend. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."  
  
Kyle smiled. "Your eulogy sounded great."  
  
"Yeah, thanks for your help with it." He smiled back. "Welcome back to town, dude."

 

* * *

 

Sharon was still shaken by the loss of her ex-husband, so Stan drove them home. She lived in their childhood home, and Stan and Shelly were staying with her to ease her through this time. Stan wasn't sure if they would make it any easier for her, though.

Stan turned on the radio, only to hear the tail end of "Push (Feeling Good on a Wednesday)" by Lorde. "And you'll be hearing a lot more of that this upcoming week, as we mourn a beloved icon of mid-2010s youth, Lorde, with a marathon of her greatest hits."

_"Oh my god,"_ Stan said, exasperated, possibly a bit too loud.

"He did have talent," Sharon admitted. "And passion."

"His voice was auto-tuned," Shelly reminded her mom.

"Yes, but he really did have a good heart, and I did have so many happy years with him, you know?" She leaned back in her seat. "He was just...going through a lot of the challenges of middle age and didn't really know how to cope."

"And we all paid the price for it," Stan said, eyes squarely on the road ahead.

Sharon turned towards her son. "Stanley, I know this is tough to process, but don't you think you're being pretty hard on him?"

"Mom, I get that it's difficult to process right now, but you can't act like you didn't spend so much of your life stressed because of his selfish ass. He dragged us into so much of his bullshit until you left him for good. He had years to learn to take care of himself, he was fully capable of doing so, and he made the decision to keep screwing up and whine at us if we questioned him."

Sharon sat for a minute in total silence, before simply stating, "Let's just drop it for now."

Stan didn't want to aggravate his mother further, so he kept to himself until he got to their house. Once there, he retreated to his room and went back to his "emo songs." He scribbled down some lines and concepts ("liquored-up Icarus,"stupid youth vampire") to piece together once his head was clearer. Maybe it came out pretentious, but he would scratch that out later; right now he just needed to put his emotions to paper because he was going to go fucking insane if he kept them bottled up. That's why he worried about his mom.

After a while, he decided to get on his laptop and put the words to paper. He had left his browser open to his e-mail that morning, and apparently he had a new e-mail from Leo Stotch- subject line "Did ya see Kyle's blog???????" with the only body content being "You have to see Kyle's new blog!!!!!!" and a link to Medium. Leo had a tendency to say that people _had to see_ everything he posted about on social media, but Stan realized he hadn't checked Kyle's blog in a few weeks, and he was one of the few people he ever followed online who usually made sense to him. Since Kyle was actually in town this week, Stan figured he should probably prime himself to discuss his blog; Kyle took this shit seriously.

He clicked through to the article, and slowly but surely he understood why he _had to see_ this:  
  
_It's Time To Speak Ill of the Dead_  
_Include the deceased's flaws in your eulogy, or don't do a eulogy at all_  
_Kyle Broflovski_

_My best friend recently lost his father in a drunk driving accident. I've spent the past week working with him on his eulogy, and we've run into a lot of problems- namely the fact that his father wasn't really that great a guy. He was fairly irresponsible and snappy, and in fact, his death was entirely his fault._

_So what would be better for my friend to write: an unrealistic eulogy that focuses solely on the best aspects of his dad, or a truthful one that reflects the real impact he had on his family? Which one would be the most beneficial to the attending mourners?_

_I would absolutely go for the latter._

 


	2. Awkward Subject Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marshes and Broflovskis have a very awkward dinner after the funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME: The night of the funeral.  
> CONTENT WARNINGS: parent death, references to hard drugs and to alcoholism.  
> OTHER NOTES: ooooo this one's kind of...heavy. hopefully the angst will dial down after this. also note that the boys kind of act like dicks in this fic often, but they're mostly lashing out from having shitty lives.

These were really not the best circumstances for Kyle Broflovski to return to this hellish mountain town, and face everyone after his unceremonious escape from Colorado. 

Okay, he'd popped in for holidays and such like a decent guy (he didn't have much else to do in the city; he hadn't made too many lifelong friends at NYU), but he'd tried not to overstay his welcome or bring up awkward topics. Especially not around his childhood best friend and former roommate, who he'd basically ditched after leaving CU Boulder and not moving back. Not that it was his fault that Stan didn't have a real career path.

Of course, Stan didn't have a dad now either, so this was definitely not the time to be bitter about their past. 

The doorbell rang, and Kyle jumped to answer it. There were Sharon, Shelly, and Stan Marsh, all looking naturally bleak. Kyle's mom and dad came up behind Kyle and brought the family members into a big hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Sharon." Sheila opened her arms to Shelly next, who kept her sullen expression. "I'm sorry for the whole family."

Stan weaved his way past the hugs, over to Kyle, who was less likely to touch him unprompted. Kyle simply said, "Glad you showed up."

"Yeah." Stan looked around the proper Broflovski living room. "It's always pretty nice here."

Though frankly, Kyle was probably the only one he'd accept a hug from right now, since he'd not just listened to him voice his conflicted feelings towards his father, but actually helped him put it into words.

"I hope my mom isn't getting on your nerves too much," Kyle said, watching Sheila continue to weigh Shelly down with questions. 

"I'm more worried about how she is with _you_ ," Stan said. "Does she still bug you about New York?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "She asks me every time I come back here, 'Oh God, did you get mugged? Did you get jumped?' I know she means well, but she acts like Manhattan is the porno and crime dump it was in the 70's."

Stan shook his head. "She really thinks this town is safer than the city?" Kyle nodded, and Stan scoffed. "Tell that to the dead drunk guy who rammed his car into a 7-11 last week."

Kyle gave a small chuckle. He wouldn't make a joke back, even if he knew Stan would totally allow it. Partially because his mom was within earshot, and she was still shaken up by the eulogy's brutal honesty. 

Speak of the devil, Sheila came up behind Stan and hugged him, though not as tightly as his mother or sister.

"Oh Stanley, so sorry about your loss." She backed away, still holding onto his forearms. "Your eulogy was...very eloquent." Kyle had heard what she said before, and knew she was holding back in front of the dead man's son.

Stan gave a quizzical look. "Thank you?...Mrs. Broflovski."

"I think you could have been a little less harsh, of course. I mean, the man did just die."

"I just, you know..." He looked to the side, worried about Sheila's judgment, as most raised around her were. "Wanted to be honest."

Sheila squeezed Stan's forearms and changed the subject. "Do you still play football, Stan?"

"Oh, no, I stopped playing after high school...trying to focus more on my music, maybe get a career in that." 

"Honestly, that's probably for the best," Sheila said, letting go of Stan's arms. "Wouldn't want you to get busted up on the field. Definitely not what your father would have wanted."

Your father, your father. Was this going to be all people saw Stan as this whole time? Just the poor sap whose father died horribly? 

"You know, Ike used to play hockey," Sheila continued, thankfully dropping the dead father conversation. "But he realized it wasn't for him, and he focused more on academics."

"And now he's a Harvard graduate!" Gerald beamed with pride. Kyle exhaled, sick of hearing this day after day. Gerald turned to the couch, where Ike sat next to a blonde little lady. Stan recognized her as Sally Bands, Ike's high school girlfriend who he'd miraculously stuck with throughout college. They'd been relaxing, apparently more focused on the television than their mourning family friends. Now that they were relevant to the conversation, they stood up.

 

"Hey, Stan," Ike said, brushing his soft hair out of his eyes. "Sorry about your dad, man. If you ever need to chill, or you need a good lawyer, just hit me up." He grabbed Sally by the hip. "If you need a _great_ lawyer, you can talk to this chica right here."  


Sally giggled. "Family law is more what Ike's here for. But if you ever find your constitutional rights threatened, I'm your gal!"

"So you're all probably hungry," Sheila said, "how about some lunch? I made spaghetti."

"Oh, I'm starving," Shelly said. 

Kyle watched his kid brother giggle with Sally about god knows what, their faces unbearably close. "I need a second," he said. "I'm feeling a bit nauseous."

* * *

"So Sally had a client who was suing this cop, because the cop had searched his home without a warrant and tried to arrest him for possessing coke," Ike recounted between bites of spaghetti, his bright blonde girlfriend seated next to him.

 

"The client claimed discrimination, unreasonable search and seizure, and false arrest, and sure enough, we discovered the policeman had placed the cocaine on the client just to fill his arrest quota," Sally continued. The rest of the table listened in awe, save for Kyle, who had heard of Ike's successes as a lawyer so many times that it got a bit stale for him.

"But then a week later, Ike takes on a client in a divorce case." Sally snickered. "And get this- it's that same cop's wife!"

"And she's divorcing him because he keeps stealing her cocaine!" Ike added. 

Gerald burst into laughter. "Oh man, that's just perfect."

Sharon even cracked a smile. "Thanks, you two. I needed the pick-me-up." Sheila put an arm around Sharon's shoulder. Stan just looked down at his plate, unfazed.  
  
"Hey, anytime," Ike smiled at the adults. "I've already seen some pretty wild cases. I'm surprised how many clients I manage to get off."

Sally mumbled a joke about getting off, and she and Ike got closer to each other, giggling and kissing. Kyle could just throw up. He still couldn't shake the memory of them as tots on the playground together, and the fact they'd stayed friends and progressed into lovers was...uncomfortable. He made a face at Stan, and Stan nodded back with a similar look of disgust.  
  
Gerald asked, "So, Stan. If you don't mind me asking, did your dad leave a will?"

"Gerald, come on," Sheila scolded. "We're trying to get our minds off of that."

"I just want to make sure he has everything in check. If you need a good lawyer to claim your inheritance, you can always come to me. Or maybe Ike or Sally. They got a good track record, too." He leaned over and whispered, "You may want to go to them, in case I decide to retire early tomorrow." He laughed. Stan didn't.

"I know he wrote a will once years ago, we looked it over before the divorce," Sharon said.

Stan retorted, "They said that one doesn't count because he wasn't in sound mind." It was around the time Randy was obsessed with those informative murder porn channels, Stan remembered, so he'd clumsily, drunkenly written a will one night, worrying about Sharon killing him. "But a year ago I sat him down and he wrote out a real will. Shelly and I witnessed it."

"Good foresight," Gerald said. "I have mine all laid out already." He looked to Ike, then to Kyle. "I think you boys will get a good deal." He kept looking at Kyle. "Some of you may need it more than others."  
  
Eager to change the subject, Sharon asked, "So Kyle, how've you been? Are you working right now?"

"Oh. Yeah." Kyle twirled his fork around his plate. "I'm a journalist. Publishing work online."

"He works for a blogging website called Medium," Sheila explained.

"Yeah, like I said, I'm a _journalist_ ," Kyle repeated, defensively. He shoved a meatball in his mouth.

"So Buzzfeed fired you, huh?" Ike asked. Sally snickered, as did Shelly. 

 

Kyle tightened the grip on his fork and leered at Ike. "I _quit_. I only took that job for internship credit."

Ike didn't look convinced. Stan saw his friend was under pressure. "Medium's a good site," he spoke up. "There's a lot more freedom than other news sites, and a lot more topics you can read about."

" _Thank_ you, Stan," Kyle said.

"That's because it's basically a blogging site, bro," Ike added. "You'd think after taking the effort to transfer to NYU and get a good degree, you'd have higher standards than that." 

" _Social journalism is the way of the future!_ " Kyle leaned over the table, spooking his brother and his girlfriend. Everyone gave him odd looks, and he slowly slid back in his seat, pretending he hadn't lost his cool. "Sorry. N-not the right time for that, I know."  
  
There was a brief silence. The only sound anyone heard was forks hitting plates, until Shelly spoke up. "Oh, by the way, Stan, can you tell your friend Leo to take me off his mailing list?" She waved her phone at him. "He just keeps sending stupid articles."

"Hey!" Kyle recognized the article on the screen. "That's my blog!" 

Shelly yanked the phone away from Kyle's touch. "I know, turd, I read the link. Don't expect that to be a regular thing, though. I have better crap to do." Her insults had a more playful tone than when she was a bitter lonely teen, but she still scared the boys who grew up around her. "So, are you the reason Stan's eulogy was so brutal?"

 

" _Shelly...._ " Sharon groaned.

 

Kyle gulped, not sure if Shelly would kick his ass or pat him on the back for talking shit about her dad. Either way, she was pretty damn strong and it was bound to hurt somehow. "I mean...we did work on it together, yeah."

 

"It was mostly me," Stan spoke up, truthfully. "I just had a lot to say, and I didn't want to hold back." He looked to his mother. "I know it wasn't a happy speech, but we didn't really have a happy relationship."

 

"Stanley, the funeral was for _everyone_ who knew Randy," Gerald said. "We wanted to remember the good things that Randy brought us as we said goodbye."

 

"That'd be a short speech," Shelly mumbled. Kyle smiled a bit knowing she was on their side.

 

Stan already knew she was on his side, because she knew how hellish it was to live with Randy, clean up after his messes and withstand his childish outbursts. Nobody else could really understand. Stan wished they could.

 

Gerald added, "You know what his last words to me were? 'Hold my beer.' You'd never think those would _actually_ be someone's last words, but they were Randy's." Shelly snickered. 

 

Now Sheila glared at Shelly. "It's not funny, Shelly. It's sad."

 

"I _know_ it's sad," Shelly said matter-of-factly. "I spent half my life living with that man. _He_ was sad."

 

"Yeah, I think we're allowed to laugh a little," Stan said. Finding the levity in all this might be a good idea, he realized, so he didn't dwell too hard on the bigger moral questions. "He died in a really ridiculous way, you got to admit."

 

"But he still _died_. Isn't it a bit too soon to joke about this?"

 

"I don't know, was it too soon to laugh at the divorced couple with the coke?" Kyle piped up. Stan stuck up for him, he would stick up for Stan.

 

"That's different," Sharon said, avoiding eye contact.

 

"Most of us knew Randy since we were children," Sheila explained. "We see the good things and the bad things."

 

"But have you lived with him your entire life? Did he shape your childhood?" Stan was heating up a bit. Why did he have to mourn him? Why did he have to cope the same way they did? "Did he force you to grow up by age eleven because he was too busy acting like a child to take care of himself?"

 

Sharon had her head lowered in anxiety. "Stanley, please settle down."

 

"I'm sorry, Mom, but it's really frustrating to see people insist that we ignore the shit he did to this town." He began counting on his fingers. "He screwed us out of an alien alliance, he almost burnt a hole in the ozone, he's humiliated himself and this town time and time again, and he's been a terrible father _and_ husband." He gestured to Kyle,

who looked ready to die. "Kyle's article is right, we need to be honest and admit that Randy Marsh was not a great guy. Dying doesn't automatically make you a great person! Otherwise, why would we have Hell?!" 

 

Stan's mind caught up to his mouth and he snapped into reality. He noticed his mom had her head down and had started weeping. Fuck. 

 

He went around the table and put his hand on her back. "I'm sorry. That was way too far. It's a bad time, I know, I just...it's hard."

 

Rubbing Sharon's back, prompting Stan to pull his own hand away, Sheila responded, "It's hard for _all_ of us, Stan."

 

_Was it?_ Stan thought. But he didn't say it out loud.


	3. Eureka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Kyle find a way to feel less shitty about their situations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME: same night as chapter two.  
> CONTENT WARNINGS: more heavy parent stuff.  
> OTHER NOTES: this is just a very talky chapter. writing their eureka moment without being too obnoxiously foreshadowy was tricky.

The two young men digested their dinner in Kyle's old bedroom, lying back on his bed, reading Stan's song lyrics.

 

"' _Liquored-up Icarus flying to the sun_.' Huh." Kyle turned to Stan with a small smile. "Not exactly Lin Manuel Miranda yet, but not too bad either."

 

"Do I _want_ to be Lin Manuel Miranda?" Stan replied. Kyle shrugged. "Thanks, anyway. I just scribbled this out before I came here." He rested his hands on his stomach. "It sounds super weak, but I just need to get it down on paper while I was still frustrated." He smiled back at Kyle. "Probably not as iconic as 'the Peter Pan of South Park'..."

 

"Hey, you made up the comparison." He nudged Stan's arm. "I just made the depressing point that neither of them are getting any older." 

 

"You put all that together, though! I never could have gotten my message across without you." Stan gestured to the door. "You saw how I get when I talk about Randy without someone keeping me in line."

 

"It sounded great. Hopefully it was a reality check for a lot of these people acting like Randy Marsh was some martyr, when he caused his own fucking death."

 

Stan sighed. "They're not gonna get it, dude. Not unless they grew up with him in their house."

 

"Hey man," Kyle turned to Stan. "I get it. I'm here for you." He held out a hand. Stan took it after some hesitation. 

 

"My mom doesn't want to admit it. She's too fucked up right now. I think it's because she knew him for so many years, and she feels like, guilty, for not doing enough to help. Even though it was never on _her_ , because we _kept_ telling him how to get better and he kept taking the easy way out, and if she didn't leave him be, she was going to explode," Stan continued. "But I just wish she would call him out again, like she always did. Like she encouraged me to do." He sighed. "Fuck, it's confusing. My family sucks, but sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who can pull it together. My parents were both nuts and my sister's caught up in her job and her fiance, so I can't just up and leave them behind to do my own things." Kyle wondered if that last part was a subtle dig at him. For leaving his family behind, when he probably would have been better off than Stan.

 

"Just follow your heart, man," Kyle said. "If you want to hate your dad's guts, even after his guts were hopelessly mangled, you have the right to do so." This made Stan chuckle, which alleviated Kyle's worries that Stan was bitter. Stan needed the laughs.

  
They lay on the bed for a while longer before Stan sat up, confused. He kept hearing something in the room next door, something like bouncing and giggling. The guys grimaced.

 

"Sick, is that your parents?" Stan asked.

 

Kyle shook his head and groaned, "It's my _brother_ , and his girlfriend." Kyle heard these nasty noises whenever they all came home, and it didn't help his insomnia.

 

"I don't know if that's a relief or not." Stan gagged a bit to.

 

They laughed again, but soon Kyle lost his joy. "You know, it's so fucking annoying, man." Kyle walked to his desk and stared into his computer. "I pour my heart into my writing, and nobody cares. I'm not writing for a professional magazine, and I'm not a big shot lawyer like my kid brother." His scowl was reflected in the screen. "You know my brother spent most of his time in Harvard dicking around. You can check his Instagram, it's nothing but keg stands and vape tricks, photos of him macking on Sally. I hauled my ass to New York, joined this huge sea of diverse opinions and breaking news to study, and nobody cares because it isn't a fucking Ivy League like my brother's alma mater." He slammed his fists on the laptop. " _I_ was only a few grade points from getting into Harvard, you know!"

 

"Of course I know, dude, we've been over this a lot. Just be grateful that you studied in New York. That's way more impressive than _Boulder_ to most people."

 

"I mean, Boulder has its perks, you made the most of it there." ( _Those perks weren't enough for you,_ Stan thought.) "But people pay more attention to the name of the school, I feel like they barely care what we actually _do._ Like, did they even _watch_ that fucking documentary we made?" 

 

Stan knew what he was talking about: a documentary they made in their freshman year at CU Boulder. It was a study on religious hypocrisy in South Park- basically one big "fuck you" to the idiots and Bible-thumpers who were still were acting high-and-mighty towards the teens in the town, especially the LGBT ones. Stan and Kyle had interviewed several folks in town about religion, then looked at the town statistics of things like divorce and capitalism which were also technically against the Bible. They'd gotten an interview with Jesus himself, for his sake! It would've made Michael Moore shit into his hat.

 

The film had some lighthearted moments, too, Stan had written a short intro song for it, and overall it was really fun to work on a project like that as friends. Ironically, that documentary had convinced NYU to take Kyle, impressed with his analytical skill. It had been the last thing they'd worked on together.

 

Stan probably could have gotten a better deal if he'd tried, but he didn't think it was worth the effort at the time. He sort of regretted it now. He did sometimes think about collaborating with Kyle again, but never really had the energy or time for it...but maybe...

 

"Dude," Stan said. "We should make another film."

 

Kyle turned around in his seat. "Like what, another documentary?"

 

"I mean, it doesn't _have_ to be. We don't have to include anybody except our friends. But we could both use something fun to work on. I just want to take everything that's happening right now and just...show everyone how ridiculous it is."

 

Kyle looked back into his screen, at his blog and its mediocre view count. "I don't know if that would work. People don't listen to us now, who's to say they would listen to us together?"

 

Stan gestured to Kyle's computer. "Kyle, people don't want to read long-winded opinion pieces, especially not shit they don't agree with in the first place." Kyle pouted, but he knew Stan was right. "But if we put our message into song and add a lot of other fun little touches, people eat it up. I got people to buy up hybrids just by bullshitting a song when I was nine-"

 

"Which eventually almost killed me."

 

"I didn't see that coming."

 

"And got me hooked on acid for a bit."

 

" _But my point is_ , we both know so much more now, and with my dad's inheritance, we could invest in some actually good equipment. And even if nobody listens, it'll still be a good way to get all this bullshit off our chests."

 

"So what is this, therapy?" Kyle asked, half snarky, half genuine.

 

"Maybe!" Stan threw his hands up. He was actually smiling for the first time in a while. "Whatever it is, it's a chance to take our anger at this stupid fucking world and make something productive out of it. And then we have something to show people who don't listen to us when we're being straight-up."

 

Kyle thought it over, still a bit suspicious. Then his eyes lit up with hope. "Yeah...yeah, that'd be great!" He stood up, on an inspired roll. "We could totally make fun of the dumb shit in this world with a music video, or like...a musical skit. Something interesting. Something that makes people realize that we can't put people on pedestals because they died. Maybe we don't need to try too hard for once to sound smart, we can just...make something enjoyable. But still carrying the message we want to deliver!"

 

"Exactly!" Stan got up and high fived Kyle.

 

"Wow," Kyle said, still grabbing Stan's hand. "First the eulogy, and now we can start on this. I almost forgot how awesome it felt to work with you." The two men hugged, both needing the comfort after a long day- or more appropriately, a long five years- of stress.

 

Kyle left the hug and dropped back at his computer desk. "Come on, we got a script to write."


	4. Welcome to Hell, Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Kyle make a film featuring facial hair, brand names, a lot of dirty jokes, and a musical number. Oh, and Kenny is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME: about a week after the previous chapter.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: references to death and hell, sex, drugs, vomit, bestiality....basically anything they joke about in the show is fair game in the boys' web content.
> 
> OTHER NOTES: you don't need to find the web video good or funny, because i wasn't really using my best material on my fanfiction. the point is that it's believable that it could get popular, and i've seen really stupid shit get popular before, so you know. it's possible to just skip the entire in-universe sketch as long as you get the gist of what they're doing. 
> 
> oh also kenny is genderfluid in this fic, and in my verse as a whole, and fluctuates between he/she/they pronouns.

Stan looked into his phone's reflection as he mussed up his hair. "Should I put gel in my hair or something?" he asked. "I mean, it's kind of flat and boring, and it might not look really devilish." Granted, people would probably pay more attention to his tight red bodysuit and black short shorts than anything, but he wanted to make this film as good as it could be with a limited time and budget.

Kyle shrugged. "I mean, he didn't really have hair, so it's hard to tell." He handed a little patch of hair to Stan. "Just wear the fake goatee."

Stan held the goatee up to his chin, looked at his reflection, and laughed. "I almost look as dumb as you do in that mustache."

"I'm _supposed_ to look dumb; it looks just like your dad's mustache." On top of his scraggly facial hair, Kyle had pasted a redhead version of Stan's dad's mustache. Stan didn't want to play the part, because he'd look way too much like his dad, and he couldn't look at himself like that.

Stan cocked his head looking at Kyle. "You think my dad might have looked more appealing as a redhead?"

"The real question is, how would he wear my hair?" Kyle wrangled his bouncy curls into a ponytail. "Like this? Or would he rather go for a man-bun?" He gathered the hair into a messy ball.

"A ginger with a man-bun..." Stan shook his head. "Imagine what Cartman would've said."

Kyle crossed his forefingers as if to ward off a demon. "Augh, he who shall not be named!"

Stan laughed. "He can't hear us." Cartman hadn't gone to school with them; he'd taken online courses until his mom kicked him out of the house. Wherever he was, he was secluded from other people...except for the Instagram messages he always posted where he bragged about being secluded from other people to people who forgot to unfriend him.

"I know, but I want to send him out of my mind."

"Use your hatred of him to fuel your role." Stan pointed to Kyle's mustache. "You're playing an asshole, after all."

"Guys, do you want me to start rolling yet?" asked the voice behind the camera.

Stan turned towards the voice and said, "Give us a minute, Kenny, we're almost in full costume."

Kenny popped out, looked them over, and started laughing as well. "You guys look fucking ridiculous."

"We're _supposed_ to!" Stan reiterated, grabbing his jacket.

"Yeah, but even Satan didn't look that stupid. And he was fucking ripped."

"I know, I know," Stan said. He put his jacket on over his red bodysuit, feeling a tad shy again. "But Satan's been dead for years, so let's just all assume this is like, a new Satan. Who looks like a twenty-five-year-old musician."

"Actually, the new leader of Hell looks like a whiny emo twink." She smirked knowingly. "With a little red dick. Like a Jolly Rancher."

Kyle snorted. "That's something I'll consider when I'm playing him."

"And he cries after sex. And after losing at Mario Kart."

Stan and Kyle weren't sure what to make of Kenny's oddly specific details. "I don't know if that's relevant," Stan said, "but maybe we can write it in." Kyle scribbled something in his notebook.

 

Finally in full costume, Stan and Kyle got into position before the green screen. Stan looked down at himself, sitting at a desk in his red bodysuit. "This isn't gonna make us look like total idiots, is it? I mean, I'm gonna sing about death and morality dressed as a devil with this suit clinging to my crotch."

"That's part of why you're behind the desk for most of it," Kyle said. "Plus, people can still think stupid stuff is deep and meaningful. Like _Saturday Night Live._ "

"But they've been doing stupid stuff for years with dozens of people, and we're just a couple of guys starting out. I already feel like a joke to everyone, is this really the way to go?"

"Stan." Kyle leaned over the desk. "This is what we're good at. We're good at pointing out the stupid stuff that nobody else in this town seems to notice, except maybe Kenny." Kenny waved from behind the camera. "But we're also good at taking that stupid stuff and making it enjoyable. Like making each other laugh at the stupidest shit even when people are dying. And making art about the shit everyone's too scared to tackle." He took Stan's hand. "It's up to _us_ , and our vision. Are you with me?"

Stan looked at Kyle, then at the main camera, then at his hand.

"Guys, not to rush this, but when are we gonna start?" Kenny interrupted. "I have class at 6, and Leo's gonna be here a half hour before that to pick me up."

Stan looked at Kenny and nodded. "Start rolling."

 

* * *

 

"So you got high at a Halloween party while dressed as Pocahontas, then smashed your car into a McDonald's trying to prove that the McRib was still around." Stan's Satan was an ironically proper man, sitting at a desk addressing the complaints of a lowly father named Ryan- played, naturally, by Kyle. "It wasn't, by the way."

"For starters, I got high on marijuana, not crack or anything," Kyle said, mimicking Randy's smart-ass attitude, as meticulously directed by Stan beforehand. "And I was actually honoring Pocahontas, by acknowledging how attractive and sexy indigenous women can be."

"She was a child, you know," The devil said matter-of-factly.

"I- I knew that." Ryan realized what he said and then waved his hands frantically. "No no, wait, I didn't know that!"

"Look, Ryan, you insist that you belong in Heaven. But why? Nothing has convinced me otherwise. The longer I look at you, the more I want to throw you in a pit of fire."

"Look. I have a family who loved me. A wife who lived with me and loved me for years-"

"Because she thought divorce would mess up your kids."

"-and two kids who I loved with all my heart-"

"Because they didn't want to get in trouble with Mom by calling you out."

"Is that not what love is?!"

Stan's devil sighed.

 

"Am I here for when I threw up on my wife?" Ryan asked the sturdy devil. "Because that was actually to save her life. Someone had slipped something into her drink, and I switched the drinks to save her, which gave me a stomachache."

" _You_ slipped it into her drink," Stan shouted as the devil, "because you thought she cheated on you, when she was talking to a hot receptionist in the doctor's office. And she was only there because you had poisoned her food."

"I was young and stupid then!" Ryan begged.

"You were thirty!" The Devil clarified loudly.

"You're like, ten thousand years old! Thirty is like a baby to you, does it matter?"

Stan growled at Kyle, something that would later be edited to include fire from his mouth. Kyle's response? "Man, your breath stinks. You should get a better diet. Cut out gluten, maybe."

 

In another exchange, Stan the Devil put on a pair of comically small reading glasses and went over Kyle-as-Ryan's thick case file. "Is it true that you kicked a child off the computer in the library so you could masturbate after you lost internet at your house?"

"I covered myself with a blanket like a gentleman!" Ryan retorted. Kenny chuckled behind the camera.

"You jerked it to Japanese girls vomiting after getting fucked by elephants!"

"No, I jerked it to Japanese girls vomiting, _after_ I jerked it to women getting fucked by elephants. Is there a typo in that file or something? Because that's a crucial distinction."

This line was, in fact, based off of a conversation Stan had with his father one weekend, after Randy had forgotten his headphones during his private computer time. Even Kyle had to pause and sit for a while, hands in his head, thinking about how much Randy Marsh sucked. That's also what Stan's devil character did in response to that line.

 

The follies continued. Kenny operated both cameras at once, and they went through several takes.

"Listen, man, do you take cash?" Ryan begged. "I have uh...." He dug into his pockets and pulled out the contents, counting the coins. "Sixty-eight cents, some ketchup packets, and a Blockbuster coupon."

"All the Blockbusters closed years ago, you dumbass!" Stan's Devil boomed.

"I thought maybe when stores went out of business, they end up here," Kyle shrugged, channeling his father's cluelessness for Ryan.

"No, Blockbuster is up there." Stan's Devil pointed above him. "We do have a Sears, though."

Kyle dropped to his knees. "Please, Mister Satan, I'll do anything! I'll..." He got on all fours. "I'll suck your devilish dick!"

" _What?!_ "

"It's red and round, right? I can just pretend it's a Jolly Rancher, and-

"My dick is not a fucking Jolly Rancher! It's a flamin' hot Cheeto at worst!" Stan stood up abruptly in his devilish glory. "Face it, Ryan Parker, you cannot sweet-talk your way out of Hell!"

"But haven't you seen my funeral? They said good things about me."

Stan's Devil facepalmed. "Antichrist, I knew letting them attend their funeral was a bad idea. But did God listen? No, he never does. Not to me or to anybody." He rose from his seat, so caught up in his message that he didn't even think about his jumpsuit. "Let me tell you something, Parker..."

That was Kenny's cue to start playing Stan's music demo. A snappy tempo began, and a devil began to dance (a bit awkwardly, but that's part of the charm) and lip-sync along:

 

 

> _You caused your death, took your last breath, and crashed into my sacred realm_
> 
> _But right before, took a detour, to watch your loved ones overwhelmed_
> 
> _With joy and love and sadness, but let me make it clear_
> 
> _Sixty-one years aren't outdone by two hours worth of tears!_
> 
>  
> 
> _But you won't accept that you're in Hell, your ego is the size of France_
> 
> _You won't accept that you've been bad, you think somehow there's still a chance_
> 
> _Of growing fuzzy angel wings and crossing through the golden gates-_
> 
> _Shut up, you fucking masturbator, let me fucking set you straight!_
> 
>  
> 
> _You've been an asshole all your life,_
> 
> _And now you're an asshole in Hell!_
> 
> _You got in trouble and caused strife_
> 
> _To all those people who treated you well!_
> 
> _Rely on the liquor, now you know how Icar-_
> 
> _us flew too far up and then burnt out!_
> 
> _You've got no excuses, don't ask, "What the deuce is_
> 
> _This giant red douche going on about?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _You sexist, racist, fucking basic_
> 
> _Bitch, bad father, selfish, lazy,_
> 
> _High, polluting, highfalutin_
> 
> _Stalk-his-ex's-Facebook-page-ing_
> 
> _Asshole...._

Stan jumped on the table, and let his anger overcome the last bit of stage fright he had left as he boomed this line out to his father stand-in:

 

> _Welcome to Hell!_

 

Kyle lay on the ground, and spoke Ryan's punchline: "Okay, so I guess I'm stuck here. One question...do they have beer in Hell?"

 

* * *

 

As soon as the short film wrapped, Stan ripped off his goatee. "That sucked, dude."

"Dude, you were incredible!" Kyle cheered. "I haven't seen you dance like that since..." He smirked. "Since _Urinetown._ "

Stan groaned at the thought of his high school theater days. "Don't remind me, my voice was cracking like crazy back then."

"You sounded fucking awesome, dude," Kenny assured him, taking the camera off the tripod. "Both now and then. Mostly now, of course, because we all kind of sucked in high school."

"Says you!" Stan nudged Kenny. "Miss Penelope Pennywise, high-belting like a madwoman."

Kenny blushed. "Aw, shucks." She snapped the tripod's legs together. "I nearly ran out of bus fare on opening night. I just took inspo from the bus driver to act like a pushy capitalist bitch onstage."

 

The group chatted about old memories until a motorcycle revved up next to them. The driver parked, hopped off the bike, and removed their helmet, revealing his soft blonde tuft of hair.

Kenny grinned at the boys. "That's my ride." She skipped over to the bike and put her arm around the blonde man. "Hey, Leo."

"Hey, Ken!" Leo greeted her with a kiss. "We still got time to get to your college, right?"

"Yeah, we were just shooting the shit." She gestured to Stan and Kyle. "They're making this pretty awesome short film. I was just helping with the camera."

Leo grinned at his old acquaintances. "That's great! Show me when it's done. I'll send it to everyone I know."

Stan hesitated, worried how many people would see him make a fool of himself in tights and a goatee, but Kyle seemed to be all for it. "Sure! We'd like for people to check this out."

Leo punched the air. "Whoopee!" Kenny put their helmet on, preparing to get back on the road. Before Leo put his back on, he asked, "Hey, we should get together for lunch or something tomorrow, too. Before Kyle heads back to the city 'n' all."

"Yeah, sounds great," Stan said. "we haven't gotten together in a while."

Beaming, Leo put his helmet back on and climbed onto the bike, Kenny hanging onto him for dear life from the pillion. They rode away, leaving the two friends by themselves again.

Stan slung the film equipment over his shoulder and started inside the house, Kyle following behind with the camera. He and Kyle headed upstairs to work with the footage. "What if people think it's stupid and they don't care what we're saying?"

"Sure it's stupid," Kyle said. "But it felt good to make, right?" He handed the camera over to Stan.

Looking at the camera in his hands, Stan nodded. It _had_ been super cathartic to picture his dad suffering for his hubris.

"So people will pick up on that," Kyle continued, "and they'll enjoy it just as much. Come on, this was your idea."

Stan popped the SD card out of the camera. "You wrote most of the jokes, dude. I didn't expect it to be so nasty."

"Your dad was a nasty fucker," Kyle said. "And you were loving those jokes. Don't focus on what everyone else might think. Just be proud of what we made."

Stan put the card into his computer and watched the wacky footage upload. "You can't act like you aren't worried a little bit."

Kyle grabbed Stan's shoulders. "Because I'm proud! We made something together!" The editing program popped up. "Now we just have to finish it."

The next two and a half hours were dedicating to editing the masterpiece, especially Stan's big song and dance number. They were shaking their heads the whole time; seeing themselves on camera was bizarre, but some of it was pretty impressive. After all, they'd spent at least a week constantly rehearsing this little film; it was bound to show.

Then the time finally came to upload the project. Stan offered to use his e-mail for the account, since Kyle, for all his pride, didn't want to attach this to his professional work account.

"So we won't use our names," Kyle said, "just in case we want to take on different jobs and they don't take well to dopey sketches. Let's use something that reflects us both."

Stan thought aloud. "Maybe we can use both our names. Something like Marshlovski or Brarsh."

"Gross, no," Kyle said. "We can combine our names, but we are not using that. Something like...Marsh...Broflovski..." He snapped his fingers. "Marsh Bro."

"Marsh Bro. I'm loving it." Stan typed it in the username bar. "It almost makes us sound cool."

Kyle leaned over Stan's shoulder and watched him post the video. "Maybe we will be," he chuckled.

As the video began to load its way into the million-dollar platform, Stan chuckled too. "Yeah, don't quit Medium just yet, dude."


	5. The Sizzler Waitstaff Needs to Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Kyle's newfound Internet fame is thwarted by an annoying dining experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SETTING: a few days after last chapter.  
> CONTENT WARNINGS: none, this time, besides i guess a brief mention of skipping breakfast.  
> OTHER NOTES: i deleted and rewrote this chapter due to a desire to fix the way the story is set up, because i worried it was going too fast before. sorry for any alarm!
> 
> nothing against dining staff, who try their damnedest and work for scraps, but the obligatory happy birthday songs do tend to be really annoying for everyone involved. and 'ashole' is pronounced 'a-show-lay.' i don't fucking know either.

 

Stan woke up to probably a hundred notifications on his phone. Mostly from Leo, but several from Kyle as well, and several from people he couldn't recognize.

 

His phone also showed it was eleven a.m. He'd gotten a good sleep after their long day of filming and editing, which was refreshing, because he usually couldn't sleep very well without some sort of aid. But now he had to rush to get to Sizzler before noon and meet up with his friends.

 

Stan took a shower first (he literally stunk like the devil), threw on his sweatshirt, jeans, and beanie, and rushed down. He saw his mom and sister at the table, having some soup.

 

"Look, he's alive," Shelly snarked. Sharon gave her a look to indicate that that statement wasn't really well timed. Shelly went back to her meal.

"Do you want something to eat, Stan?" Sharon asked. "You can't keep skipping breakfast."

"I'm meeting my friends for lunch at Sizzler," Stan said without stopping.

"Alright. Call me before you get back."

Stan left his house. He hoped Shelly would keep a good eye on their mom.

* * *

 

"How the hell did so many people find this so quickly?" Kyle asked, looking at the tens of thousands of comments. "I thought this kind of shit wasn't popular anymore."

Kenny leaned over Leo's shoulder at his phone, which had the Marsh Bro video open. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Ohhh, I see. It's because you titled the video 'Welcome to Hell, Asshole.' There's this new first-person shooter that's titled ' _Ashole_ : Welcome to Hell.'" They shoved toast in their mouth. "And everyone was probably looking for let's plays of that game, and they probably found your video along the way," they continued with a full mouth.

"What the fuck does 'Ashole' even mean?" Kyle asked.

Kenny shrugged. "Some sort of murderous wizard dude, I don't know. I haven't played it. It's an Epic Games exclusive."

Stan shook his head. "This is just insane," he said. "I figured this would get some views, but this is resonating with a ton of people. Saying it's funny and true to life and all that shit." He brushed his black bangs aside. "I was just making fun of my dad."

"Well, you're not the only one with a shitty dad," Leo said with a grin, as he jammed his fork into his toast with repressed rage.

"See, dude?" Kyle nudged Stan. "This is what people like. They want to laugh at the stupid shit in the world because getting angry about it is exhausting. Now, people listen to what we have to say."

 

Their dreamy conversation was interrupted by a particularly loud group of waitstaff wailing a cheesy, off-key birthday song to a nearby group. They seemed to be rushing it, and yet it still seemed to go on too long. They also kept clapping despite not being able to follow a beat in the slightest.

Kenny rolled their eyes. "Do people even like being sung to by underpaid strangers?"

"I do!" Leo said. He stopped smiling due to Kenny's disapproving look. "I-I don't really like hearin' them sing to others, though. That's just annoying."

Kyle swallowed his food carefully and looked to Stan. "So...are we gonna keep doing this?"

"You gotta, guys! You're gonna be fucking famous!" Kenny exclaimed, garnering rude looks from the other customers. Kenny wrapped their scarf around their mouth as Leo scowled at the customers. "You're gonna be fucking famous," they said, more muffled this time.

"I mean, it was pretty fun," Stan said with a cool smile. "And it's not like I have much better to do."

"My flight doesn't leave until Wednesday," Kyle said. "We could cram another short thing."

"That's kinda a rush job, isn't it?" Leo asked.

Stan shrugged. "I guess we work well that way. We have a greater budget, yeah, but we don't need to make it glitzier just because we could." He twirled his fork aimlessly. "I mean, I could just look at some of the songs and shit I wrote in college, and maybe work those into something kinda funny."

"So I say we-"

 

Yet another badly-sung birthday song cut Kyle off- this time, singing to a table right nearby. The cheese toast in his hand nearly broke apart in his tight grip. "Jeez, how many people were born on this day?!" He pointed to the young woman being sung to, kind of cowering from the attention. "She doesn't even look happy!"

"Yeah, it's starting to piss me off!" Leo banged his fists on the table. Stan and Kenny just sat in awkward neutrality.

As soon as their song was done, Kyle stood up and asked, trying to be polite but with some venom still audible in his voice, "Excuse me, could you sing a little quieter? Some of us are trying to have a conversation."

A tall male waiter spun around to face Kyle with a fake grin plastered across his face. "We were just trying to ensure our birthday gal feels welcome here."

"Yes, but when you _scream_ the lyrics, you make it so the whole restaurant feels _unwelcome_ here."

"You tell 'em, Kyle!" Leo stepped up with a vicious grin on his face. Kenny had to pull him back down before he let his angry side loose.

Another waitress stepped up towards Kyle with a similar fake grin on her face. "Look, this is our job and we shall sing as we please. Unless you want to have your butt hauled out of this establishment, I suggest you sit and let us sing our corporate-mandated ditty."

Kyle prepared to speak further, but the combination of the threat and seeing the nervous faces of the group at the table made him sit back down in defeat. There was nothing he could do; this was their job, and unfortunately he couldn't fight the head of Sizzler right now.

He looked at the birthday girl again, poking at her cake. She seemed fixated on him, but trying to keep it under wraps. Kyle squinted. Did he know that girl?

He was distracted when he felt Stan pat his shoulder. "Know what's good about doing this sketch stuff?" Stan asked.

Kyle asked back dully, "What?"

Stan pointed his fork at the departing cult of waitstaff. "We'll _never_ run out of stupid shit in the world to make fun of."


End file.
